


Missing Home

by ATTHS_TWICE



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Heartache, Home, Inspired by Music, Memories, Pre-Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27040558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ATTHS_TWICE/pseuds/ATTHS_TWICE
Summary: After hearing a song, Scully drives over to the Unremarkable House to see it and remember the happier times she and Mulder had within its walls.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Comments: 3
Kudos: 45





	Missing Home

**Author's Note:**

> After I had posted a story a couple of days ago, I was left a comment which included lyrics to a song. I asked after the song title and upon listening to it, found it to be so MSR, I had to write something. I hope you like it. 
> 
> Here is the name of the song. I suggest listening to it as you read... 💜
> 
> North... by Sleeping At Last

_November 2017_

Scully sat in her car, the engine and lights shut off as she stared at the glowing lights of the house she had not lived in for over three years. She took a deep shaky breath and let it out, the pain and sadness she had felt earlier pushing its way once more to the surface. 

Shaking her head, she picked up her phone and unlocked it. Finding the song she had heard earlier and then purchased, which had led to her driving over to the house at 9:00 at night, she pressed play and closed her eyes, leaning her head back against the headrest. 

The beginning piano chords began, the sounds of it filling the car and bringing tears to her eyes. Swallowing, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

_We will call this place our home_   
_The dirt in which our roots may grow_   
_Though the storms will push and pull_   
_We will call this place our home_   
_We'll tell our stories on these walls._   
_Every year, measure how tall_   
_And just like a work of art_   
_We'll tell our stories on these walls_

Tears fell down her cheeks and she made no effort to wipe them away, needing to once again feel that pain. 

_Let the years we're here be kind, be kind_   
_Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide_   
_Settle our bones like wood over time, over time_   
_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine_   
_A little broken, a little new._   
_We are the impact and the glue_   
_Capable more than we know_   
_To call this fixer upper home_   
_With each year, our color fades_   
_Slowly, our paint chips away_   
_But we will find the strength_   
_And the nerve it takes_   
_To repaint and repaint and repaint every day_

Weeping, she shook her head, covering her face with her hands. 

_Let the years we're here be kind, be kind_   
_Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide_   
_Settle our bones like wood over time, over time_   
_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine_   
_Let the years we're here be kind, be kind_   
_Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide_   
_Settle our bones like wood over time, over time_   
_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine_   
_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine_   
_Smaller than dust on this map_   
_Lies the greatest thing we have_   
_The dirt in which our roots may grow_   
_And the right to call it home_

As the song began to play on repeat, she opened her eyes, unable to see through her tears. Lifting the middle console, she took out the box of tissues she kept there, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose. Shaking her head, she began to cry again as she stared at the house. 

God, she missed being there. Being home. 

But… that little house in the field had begun to feel suffocating, and she had needed to leave. To get out before she could no longer breathe. It had hurt, but she knew it was the right decision, then as well as now. But, Jesus… she missed it so much. Sometimes it caused such a painful ache, it stopped her in her tracks. 

She knew it was not _just_ the house, but the man living within it, and the life they had lived, the happiness they had shared. 

When they had first moved in, it was slow going getting everything they needed. Some days it was hard to believe they were _actually_ safe, no longer needing to pack up and leave after a couple of days. 

_We'll tell our stories on these walls._   
_Every year, measure how tall_   
_And just like a work of art_   
_We'll tell our stories on these walls_

She laughed and then sobbed as she remembered painting the walls, picking out the right colors and bringing them home to him. The smell of it as they had painted with only a few lamps shining, the shades off to make the room brighter. They could have waited for morning, but nighttime seemed to be _their_ time. When it was dark and quiet outside, it had felt different. 

The living room had been first, the painting process time consuming and tiring, but worth it when they were done, the windows open and letting in the cold fall air. He had set his roller brush down, taken hers from her and set it beside his own. Pulling her close, they had danced around the room, mindful of the trays of paint. 

“It’s just the start, Scully and it’s already beginning to feel like home,” he had whispered and she had sighed, a peaceful feeling in her heart. 

_Let the years we're here be kind, be kind_   
_Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide_   
_Settle our bones like wood over time, over time_   
_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine_

Without a table, there had been many meals on a blanket on the floor, laughing as they ate. Half a bottle of wine had spilled one night, his kiss intoxicating her far more than the alcohol had. Their clothes had been stained, something he had found hilarious as he had continued to wear the shirt, regardless of the splotches of reddish purple that refused to be washed away. 

The hardwood floor had also been stained, the wine left sitting unchecked for too long as they clung to one another, their cries and gasps the only sounds in the room. Any attempt to remove the stain completely was futile, for which Mulder had been downright gleeful. 

“This rug may cover it,” he had said as they had laid it down. “But _we_ know it’s there. A little dinner and some sex… that’s always the best way to end a meal.” He had kissed her as she laughed against his mouth. 

Happy. They had been so happy. And then… 

“God,” she sobbed, shaking her head and letting out a breath. 

_A little broken, a little new._   
_We are the impact and the glue_   
_Capable more than we know_   
_To call this fixer upper home_   
_With each year, our color fades_   
_Slowly, our paint chips away_   
_But we will find the strength_   
_And the nerve it takes_   
_To repaint and repaint and repaint every day_

Why was she doing this to herself? Reliving the pain and remembering that past? They were different these days, but God… the days of hurt, sadness, and loneliness were always right there below the surface, as though waiting to be called upon and do its worst. 

_The impact and the glue…_

That was the line that had caused her to gasp and fall to her knees onto the living room floor. The music continued to play though her ears had rung as she drew in deep breaths, trying to calm her aching heart. 

The impact- the past which they kept pushed away; William and the gaping hole he had left behind being the main one. They had never discussed the possibility of finding him, or trying for another child, as slim as the chance may have been. They were never careful or worried over the “what if’s,” but nothing had ever happened and every year that passed, any discussion became harder to broach. 

The glue- their need for one another, the pull to be together no matter the cost, began to lose its ability to hold tightly. It faded and was picked away. His drive became only his obsession to find the answers _he_ needed, and hers was to save him, to stop him from falling headfirst into the abyss. 

She had failed him. Failed them both. 

_Let the years we're here be kind, be kind_   
_Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide_   
_Settle our bones like wood over time, over time_   
_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine_

She rubbed at her chest, directly over her heart, as the chorus played and she closed her eyes. Pushing down the pain, she thought instead of Mulder’s smile, his laugh at some corny pun he had made, and the way he made her laugh as he danced across the room. Listening to the song in its entirety once more, she took a deep breath. 

_With each year, our color fades_   
_Slowly, our paint chips away_   
_But we will find the strength_   
_And the nerve it takes_   
_To repaint and repaint and repaint every day_

She could feel it… they were beginning to find their strength and their nerve to repaint… rebuild who _they_ were with who they had grown into. Time changes, pain causes breaks, but if they were strong, the roots that had been planted could once more flourish and grow. 

She had needed to come there tonight. To _see,_ to remember who they were, to know that it was not all in vain. The song had awakened something inside of her, its haunting beauty hurting and healing all at once. _They_ were not there yet, but that little house in the field was standing strong and resolute, not giving up, even when it felt as though they had. 

She wiped at her eyes again and then closed them, the memories of their lives within those sturdy walls calling to her, reminding her it was not only sadness and grief. 

Her mother’s laughter had been loud after a raucous game of cards, Mulder smiling as he was proclaimed victor and Scully had pouted, crossing her arms in defeat, unwilling to shake his hand and offer her congratulations. 

A rainy night had led to a movie on the couch, her head on his lap as he stroked her hair, quoting all the lines, and causing her to smile. 

The day the sink had broken and water was spraying everywhere. They had tried to stop it, bringing to mind a case long ago and Mulder crashing through the floor. She had doubled over in laughter, even as she had stood dripping wet and he had yelled to her to help him. 

Waking up on the couch with a start, the book in her hand being taken gently from her hands. Staring sleepily into his eyes, she had stretched and yawned. A blanket was lying across her and she had smiled at his thoughtfulness. The nights had begun to become chilly, the house never holding heat properly. He had helped her up and they walked upstairs together, not staying chilly for long as his touch had created a fire within her. 

A silly fight over something stupid had led to not speaking for a couple of days. She had stayed longer at the hospital, avoiding coming home. Finally knowing she needed to stop being childish, she had left, determined to speak to him and move past it. 

Upon her arrival, she had found him in the kitchen, cooking something that had made her mouth water. Dropping her bag and her keys, he had turned around and looked at her. They had said nothing, but she took off her coat and walked over to him. She wordlessly washed her hands and picked up the knife to cut the vegetables on the cutting board. Still no words were spoken, but the brush of their arms as they worked together had been enough. 

Days and nights of loving one another, fighting, either verbally or emotionally, laughing, crying, simply _being_ had kept them together. Making that little house a home, the relationship that had been built on friendship, trust, and love had bloomed even further. 

Sighing, her tears now spent, she nodded. It had been a good choice to come here, to simply gaze upon the home she loved and hoped to be back in one day. Blowing her nose once more, she reached forward to turn on the car. 

_Knock knock knock._

“Jesus Christ!” she yelled, jumping and dropping the keys. Her heart racing, she turned and found Mulder standing outside her window. He was breathing hard, his breath billowing out around him in great white puffs. “You scared the shit out of me.” 

“Sorry,” he replied, his words muffled through the glass. He tilted his head, still taking deep breaths. She reached around on the floorboard and found her keys, turning the ignition on far enough to roll the window down as she turned off the song still playing on her phone. 

“What the hell?” she asked, her heart slowly returning to normal. 

“I think that should be my question.” He smiled, nodding toward her. “You’re sitting at the end of the drive, your car silent and the headlights off. Are you spying on me?” He chuckled softly and her heart ached at the sound. 

God, she missed him. Missed him so much. 

“Did we get called out? I was out for a run and didn't bring my phone. You could have waited inside.” He licked his lips, his breathing steadier now. 

“No. No, it’s not that,” she said, not sure how she could explain this one to him. He stared with a shrug, searching her face. She stayed silent, not knowing how to get the words out to tell him how she was feeling. 

With a small nod, he took a step back and looked toward the house. Turning his head to look back at her, he smiled softly. 

“You want to come in? Have a drink? Alcoholic or otherwise?” 

There it was, her out, if she wanted to take it. She could easily say no, give no other explanation as to why she was sitting in the drive… in _their_ drive, and he would not ask further. He understood, as he nearly always did. She could simply turn the ignition on, drive back to that overly smart house, and be alone.

Alone. 

“I… I could come in for a bit,” she said quietly, her decision made, and his smile grew. Stepping back further, he nodded and began to jog up the drive. She turned on the headlights and he waved a hand in thanks. 

Starting the car, she stared after him, turning the radio on low, her phone connecting to the Bluetooth, the song starting once more. She followed him slowly up the drive as the chorus played and she took some calming breaths. 

_Let the years we're here be kind, be kind_   
_Let our hearts, like doors, open wide, open wide_   
_Settle our bones like wood over time, over time_   
_Give us bread, give us salt, give us wine_

She stopped the car as she reached the porch, watching him walk up the stairs and through the door, listening to the last few lines of the song for a bit of courage. 

_Smaller than dust on this map_   
_Lies the greatest thing we have_   
_The dirt in which our roots may grow_   
_And the right to call it home_

With a slight nod, she turned off the car and got out, walking up the stairs and pausing at the doors threshold. 

“Wine? Or something else?” he called and she took a deep breath. 

“Anything is fine,” she said quietly, as she walked inside. Closing the door behind her, she took another deep breath, the familiar scent of home washing over her as tears pricked her eyes. Blinking them away quickly, she turned to him with a small smile and walked further inside. 

The past was left outside. Tonight, she was home, and _this_ moment of happiness and comfort would be added to the stories within the walls and would settle into the roots that had begun to grow long ago. 


End file.
